memoriae
by grrawr
Summary: Draco struggles to move on after Harry's death. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. Harry Potter, the world and its characters all belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks a million to my wonderful beta **purplecrown14**

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You look down at your hands and frown, wishing for the millionth time that Harry's fingers were intertwined with yours. You still remember his touch- his rough, calloused hands sending shivers down your spine as he mapped out your pale frame in the bed you once shared. It's too big now, you think, as you settle into your half, the springs gently creaking. Harry used to laugh about that- only your side ever squeaked- but the memory makes you want to cry instead.

You forgo the dreamless sleep potion sometimes. You know it'll be another restless night, but you can't risk forgetting. You struggle to close your eyes, waiting from the soft snores from the opposite side of the bed that you know will never come. You lay facing Harry's side, the way you always did, only there's a smooth cotton pillow where the tangled mess of hair used to be.

"It never lies flat," he used to complain.

"But I like it that way," you'd protest, threading your fingers through his jet black locks. Harry would laugh and lean forward to kiss your nose, which you'd wrinkle in mock disgust.

You miss those moments more than you'd care to admit.

"You've got to snap out of it, mate," Ron tells you. You laugh inwardly, wondering what your twelve year-old self would think if you knew you'd one day be friends with the Weasel. A lot has changed since then. So have you.

It should have been you that died, not him. But then again, you think, perhaps you deserve this- the guilt, the pain, the emptiness that lurks in the pit of your stomach. Harry left an ache in your heart, a void you know you can't fill. Perhaps this is your punishment for a lifetime of wrong-doing. You wouldn't wish it on anyone. You've been running on empty for a while now- dreamless sleep potions to help you at night, pepper up potions in the morning- you don't know how much longer you can take it. You can still sense his presence in the flat- the flowers that he so lovingly planted, the muggle coffee maker he insisted on buying, the oil painting of your favourite park- everything reminds you of him. Hermione tells you to move out, to make a fresh start, but you can't do that. To do so would mean that he's really gone, and you're not quite ready to face that reality.

You still talk to him daily, even though you know he'll never respond. But then again, Harry Potter always had a knack for achieving the impossible. You look at the picture you have hidden in your grandfather Abraxus's pocket watch and wonder if Harry had ever known it was there. The picture's from the time you and Harry went to the shore with Ron and Hermione. Harry's grinning like an idiot as his ice cream runs in rivulets down his arm. You remember how important it was to him, how he'd never gone to the beach before, how those awful muggle relations had taken trips without him. You can vaguely recall promising yourself to give him everything, to spoil him rotten, and indulge in his every whim. If anyone deserved that, it was Harry. You look down at the picture and smile; recounting the adventures of your day, hoping more than anything you'll hear a reply.

You never do.

It's not normal, you know, to still think about him that way, but you refuse to think of him as dead. He's Harry, you tell yourself, he would never go back on his word. You close your eyes to stop the tears from slipping out as you remember an autumn night long ago.

"I'm scared." You told him. The words were barely audible and hung between you like smoke above a cauldron.

"What for?" He'd asked.

"Because of you," you blurted out, not noticing the way Harry's face fell, or how he stopped tracing patterns on your chest. "I mean, everyone's left me," you said quietly, "everyone." Your voice is harsh and bitter. "Even the ones who tell me they'll always be there for me end up leaving."

You felt Harry wrap his arms around you as he tilted your chin up with a gentle caress. "I won't," he told you, his emerald eyes radiating in your silver depths, "I promise."

You clung to him, feeling half upset that you allowed yourself to be so vulnerable, but also safe in knowing that he keeps his promises. Until now, that is.

You sigh, placing a lingering kiss on Harry's photo. "I miss you." you say truthfully, your eyes stinging as they begin to water once more. You promised yourself you wouldn't fall apart after Harry's death. It seems like he's not the only one who breaks his promises.

"I love you," he'd said, a month before he died, "I-I love you Draco." You wanted to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. You'd been taught to guard your emotions carefully. "You- you don't have to say it back," he added, after a pause, "I just wanted you to know."

He'd told you once before. It was a while into the strange ritual of spanning the fine line between fighting and snogging and hating and going on not-dates. It was confusing, but when were things with Harry ever simple?

"Gods I love you, Dray," he'd panted, moments before an orgasm shot through him. You frowned softly. It was just sex; he didn't really mean it, you told yourself. Besides, what would the saviour of the wizarding world want with an ex- Death Eater? You knew it was only a matter of time before Harry dumped you, but you intended on making every moment last. I-I don't care, you repeated over and over again, wishing that it were true. You knew it wasn't. You knew a part of you would always care, would crave his touch, would ache once he was gone.

You find yourself wishing more and more that you had mustered up the courage to say it back. Harry always was the brave one.

"I love you," you whisper to Harry's picture, a confession that's long overdue. Perhaps it's just your imagination, but he seems to be grinning more than before. You prefer to think that he really is.


End file.
